


For the Love of an Admin

by BastardBin



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Claustrophobia, M/M, Making Out, Video Game Mechanics, also known as the fic where Grian breaks bedrock and X can only ask HOW, amused supportive iskall, chapter 2 is just x being a badass, grian is stupid and does stupid things, responsible xisuma, there's also a Wither fight so thats fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24398833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastardBin/pseuds/BastardBin
Summary: On most days, Xisuma can be found right here in his base, tapping away at an array of holographic screens and keeping watch over his Hermits.And on those same days, Grian can be found doing everything he can in an attempt to break something, just to get a certain watchful someone's attention.Iskall's just here to laugh at them both.
Relationships: grian/xisuma
Comments: 88
Kudos: 686





	1. Intentional Accidents

**Author's Note:**

> from the initial prompt, "what if X could see messages before they're sent?"

In the dark of his base, the only light in the space is that from his screens. The holographic panels in the air all around him, casting a bluish teal glow over his green armor, display everything he needs to know. With server logs running in one, performance and entity data streaming in a constant feed across the screen, to the chatter of his Hermits on another. The files, the coding itself, data usage… Xisuma’s gaze flits between each one, keeping a constant watch of each and every feed while he works.

In the chat feed, the differently colored text denoting a death pops up with False’s name. As always, it makes the admin’s worry spike, his attention turning almost fully to that one screen while reaching behind him for another one. Messages of similar concern to his own feelings follow her incident, Cleo and Impulse both sending condolences and care her way, though they’re met by silence.

He pulls the new screen into sight, pulling up False’s unique information. She’s respawned, now, and if the items popping into the feed of her inventory says anything she must be already on her way to try and recover what she dropped. It brings a sigh of relief, a weight dropping from his shoulders, to know she’s fine. They’re always fine, he knows dying and respawning is just as common and normal to all of them as breathing; but he’s never liked it. The feeling of fading away, of seeing and feeling nothing before tumbling out of bed, always makes him worry about that moment of nothing lasting forever. Of the world glitching, and removing someone forever.

More worries pop up in the chat from False’s silence, since even though Xisuma now knows she’s fine and focused on getting back before she loses her things, the others only see silence. With another few taps on the floating screen, Xisuma pulls yet another into existence, hanging in the air between False’s data and the regular chat.

It brings with it a live image, of strings upon strings of text appearing, seemingly writing itself all on its own. He knows it isn’t; he can see Ren typing out a worried question, asking if False needs his help, before the message disappears letter by letter and being replaced by one saying he’s coming over. Only a moment later, it disappears, popping up into the public chat for all of the other Hermits to see.

Below where it was, there are others. Cleo asking if she needed help too, only for the message to vanish completely after Ren’s was sent, the pirate seemingly choosing to leave it up to False’s neighbor knowing he’s already on the issue. There’s another from Jevin joining in on the worried condolences, and one from Iskall sending a sad face, both of which appear in the chat for the others after a moment.

But more items pop into False’s inventory, the spaces suddenly filled with all plethora of things, and another screen up above his head with a map of their world shows Ren nearly in the same place as her. He doesn’t know if Ren found her things or if she did, but seeing his Hermits at the ready to help each other never fails to light a warm feeling in his chest. False’s name appears in the typing screen, a message of reassurance being written and then erased and written again differently before she sends it, telling everyone she’s just fine. 

As the screen lights up with a half dozen happy responses being written, Xisuma turns again, flicking the extra screens out of his way and turning back to his prior work. His gloves give a satisfying haptic response with each tap on the file screen, telling him when he’s properly clicked on something, and the feeling takes his attention over again as he focuses back in on organizing and streamlining things behind the veil of reality.

After a good few minutes though, after all of the responses to False have long since been sent and read in chat, his eyes drift back to the typing screen. There’s still one name left, sitting there; the little enter line blipping as it waits for more input, giving away the fact the Hermit responsible is staring at their screen trying to think of the words they need. He’s about to glance away again, turn back to his work with a shrug, when he sees his own name appear in their message.

**Grian:** Xisuma, I need to

The message disappears, erased as the builder changes his mind. The admin’s attention is well and fully on it now, though, concern bubbling up again with worry about what Grian could need him for.

**Grian:** Xisuma can I talk to

It vanishes yet again.

**Grian:** Xisuma I broke the bedrock in the overwo--

The concern startles into a mixture of panic and an internal question of how in the _world_ he managed to do that, and in a flurry of screens Xisuma yanks his command prompt into reach. The command to teleport himself appears in a whirl of keys, and in a split second, his boots make contact with the ground somewhere outside of his base. Grian appears right in front of his eyes, nothing but a mop of blonde hair and the back of a red sweater to be seen as he stares away from where the admin has appeared, a holographic screen of his own in front of him as he presses send on the message.

“You did _what?!”_ Xisuma’s voice comes out louder and more demanding than intended, cracking with the panicked worry coursing through him. It makes Grian jump a foot in the air, spinning to face him with wide eyes and a startled gasp.

“O-oh! X! Uh, funny seeing you here,” He starts with a smile that looks more like a grimace, a dusting of red bleeding across his cheeks in what the admin can only guess is embarrassment. “I, uh, _funny story--”_

He cuts himself off, face morphing into a sheepish wince, before sidestepping. It’s now that their surroundings sink in, the high cave roof above them and the uneven terrain of natural bedrock exposed entirely all around them. It’s a disaster, really, and looks more like somewhere someone might have fought a Wither than anything else; but he’s been watching the logs for a few hours, and there haven’t been any Withers spawned recently.

Part of him wonders if this might just be a silly, badly thought through prank, especially with the way Grian doesn’t seem like he was ready for the admin to appear just so soon. But as he steps closer, leaning toward the space Grian stepped away from to investigate it, the builder grabs his arm in a tight grip.

“Don’t, uh. I don’t want you to slip.” At Xisuma’s questioning glance, he mumbles and looks away, face turning brighter. “Be careful.”

“If you really did break through the bedrock, then you should probably be the one to step away from it.” Xisuma warns him back, patting the hand holding onto him reassuringly. It makes Grian jump again, almost seeming to flinch. He wonders if Grian thinks he’s in trouble for this, if that’s why he seems so flighty and nervous. “I can teleport out again if I fall, but the rest of you can’t. You should stay somewhere safe.”

Grian meets his eyes for a moment, and seems to gulp before letting go and stepping back hesitantly. “O-okay..” He murmurs, letting Xisuma turn back to what he’s somehow managed to do this time.

And it’s exactly as Grian said. As Xisuma peers over the edge, between the higher bits of bedrock around it, he can see straight down into _nothing._ It’s so reminiscent of the nothing that they experience between respawns, just moments before waking up in their beds, that it makes his skin crawl. The void is a powerful, unknown thing, and seeing it so close to one of his Hermits in a place it shouldn’t sets his concerns through the roof. What if Grian had tripped, or not realized what he’d done before he typed his message? What if Xisuma didn’t even _see_ his message? All manner of things could go wrong with something like this, and he already feels like he’s aged a year just from the worry compounding together over it.

“Grian, how exactly did you manage to _do_ this?” The admin asks, turning to him while still carefully bracing on the edge of the break. Grian is standing only a few feet off to the side, fiddling with his fingers in a nervous sort of way, eyes on the ground. At Xisuma’s questioning, the red on his cheeks turns darker, and he ducks his head a bit.

He must feel pretty bad about this one, Xisuma muses. It _is_ a pretty big deal, and considering just the amount of times he’s accidentally managed to do world breaking and sometimes extremely dangerous things that Xisuma has to come fix for him, it’s possible he’s starting to feel guilty over it.

Especially after last time, with the Nether and End getting merged. He’s still not sure how Grian managed to do that one, but… Well, he’ll have to worry about the builder’s feelings once it’s safe here. He doesn’t mind fixing each new Grian Incident of the week, but he really wishes Grian would stop putting himself in these situations that could so easily break his own respawn, too.

“I, uh…” Grian mumbles, scratching the back of his neck and looking anywhere except the admin. “... Redstone?”

Grian sounds like he’s asking Xisuma just as much as Xisuma is asking him, though maybe it makes sense that he doesn’t know exactly what he did or how. Especially since Grian doesn’t know redstone, and the admin has witnessed the chat feed of more than enough Sahara breakages to know by what extent that lack of knowledge is. If he was down here, for some reason, playing around with redstone in an attempt to learn it while no one was looking or could judge him, it’s completely possible he managed to do the impossible with nothing but sheer accidental Grian logic.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s managed to do what should be impossible, after all.

With a sigh and a shrug, Xisuma shakes his head, pulling up a new screen. “I swear, Grian, I have no idea how you manage to pull off half of the things you do.” He comments, shooting the builder a friendly smile to remind him he’s just poking fun and isn’t upset.

Somehow, it doesn’t seem to help. If possible, Grian’s face messes up and turns even redder, and Xisuma can’t help but feel bad for him. Maybe he thinks he really is in trouble? Sure, it happens a lot, but he knows the admin cares about all of his Hermits no matter what happens… right?

Xisuma isn’t very good with this sort of thing. Grimacing, he turns fully to his screen, letting the haptic feedback lead the way as he scrolls through the items. He knows code and technology far, far better than he knows people, and he wishes it was easier to reassure Grian when these things happen. Ever since the builder joined, he’s always managed to get himself into some situation or another again and again, and every single time he always looks so uncomfortable when Xisuma has to come fix it for him. Maybe he thinks Xisuma doesn’t like him? The thought sends a feeling of sadness through him, and he wishes yet again he knew how to tell the other that’s far from the case.

Shaking the thoughts off, he finally finds the bedrock, tapping it on the screen with firm finality backed by the turmoil in his emotions. The screen disappears in a cascade of blue pixels, replaced by the illegal item as it drops into his hands, and he’s quick to block the hole with it.

“There we go.” Xisuma says as cheerfully as he can, turning back to Grian with a bit of a _ta-da_ flourish. He hopes his demeanor shows that it’s fine, hopes that Grian knows there’s no mistake he can’t come to Xisuma for, but the builder still just looks up at him with those same wide eyes. His gaze flickers uncertainly across his face for a few moments, seemingly unable to figure out what to say.

Xisuma knows that feeling.

“Well, if that’s all you needed--” The admin starts, feeling the discomfort crawling up his own neck now. He doesn’t want to be here any longer than necessary if Grian feels threatened, or thinks he’s in trouble, so he knows it’s best he get back to his work as soon as possible. He’s pulling up his command screen again as he speaks, but both are interrupted by the builder suddenly startling toward him and taking his arm.

“Wait!” Grian nearly shouts, making both of them jump as it echoes around them. He grimaces at his own voice, wincing with each echo, but his grip doesn’t let go of Xisuma’s arm. “I, uh… I… Xisuma, I…”

He tries, over and over, to get whatever words that are in his head out of it. Xisuma can _see_ the frustration in his face, his brows knitting together with each word that falters in his throat, and it makes him so badly want to take hold of his cheek and smooth that upset away. The thought is jarring, logic snapping back right after he thinks of it, and Xisuma has to shake it off and settle for reassuringly putting his hand over Grian’s own on his arm.

“Grian, it’s _okay._ ” The admin reminds him, meeting the builder’s wide eyed gaze as steadily as he can despite the thoughts trying to worm into the back of his mind. “I promise you’re not in trouble, I’m always happy to come and help you with anything you need, okay? I’m here to help and take care of you all. I _care_ about you.”

Grian stares up at him, somehow even more wordless than before, and Xisuma gently squeezes his hand for emphasis. He doesn’t want his Hermits to be afraid of him or worried about upsetting him, he just wants them to be safe, and he wants them to know that. But Grian just gulps again, taking in a stuttered breath, before stumbling backward and letting go of him.

“Yeah! Yeah, you’re right. Got it.” He rambles, hurrying through his words with a voice that’s just a bit too high. “Thank you, X.”

He turns away, firmly going back to whatever it was he was up to before and decidedly not looking at the admin. With a sigh and a stamp down on the slight wiggly feeling of disappointment, Xisuma pulls his command screen back up and sends himself back home, giving Grian the space that he needs.

* * *

“So, what you’re saying is--”

“Uh-huh.”

“You had him right there--”

“Yes.”

“Underground, alone--”

“Mhm.”

“Holding your hand, gazing into your eyes, telling you he cares about you--”

“YEP.”

“--and you didn’t tell him.”

“...no.”

“Grian,” Iskall’s tone says it all, even if the half amused, half exasperated look didn’t on its own already. “I love you, but you’re _really_ bad at this.”

“I _know._ ” Grian groans back, feeling the frustrated embarrassment enough without Iskall’s teasing. Slinging an arm over his eyes to block out Iskall’s face now teetering into full amusement, the floor is at least cold against his back, draining some of the overactive flustered heat out of his body. He can still _feel_ his face, far too warm against his arm, and he can only wonder just how red he was while Xisuma was still around. Maybe he shouldn’t also wear red, come to think of it. It probably makes it worse. “I just, I don’t know Iskall. Every time he’s around my brain goes stupid and I can’t remember how words work.”

“Maybe,” Iskall’s voice is far too close this time, and when Grian turns to glance from behind his arm, the other Hermit has joined him on the floor. He’s laying beside Grian, head propped up on his hand and a _far_ too entertained smirk on his face. “Maybe your mouth forgets how to words because it wants to be kissing him instead.”

“Iskall!” Grian halfheartedly snaps at him, freeing his arm to smack at his far too teasing companion, all while Iskall busts into laughs beside him. “I told you so you could help me, not laugh at me.”

“I’m sorry, but I laugh at things that are funny.” Iskall shrugs back, leaving Grian to just huff at him. Then he sits up, the mirth falling away in favor of contemplation. “But if you can’t seem to find the words when he’s around, why don’t you just, I don’t know… message him? Or write a note? Or something else that doesn’t involve speaking? You’ve seen Cleo do that before, we’re all used to it.”

Sitting up with him, Grian mulls the thought around. He _has_ seen Cleo resort to taking Joe’s constant supply of paper and just writing what she’s trying to say before, because “words are hard” as she puts it, but that’s hardly a way to confess to someone is it? It feels so impersonal, so… it doesn’t feel right. Would Xisuma take him seriously? Or, or would he think it’s just one of Grian’s pranks..?

“You’re not liking that idea.”

“It’s just,” Grian turns to Iskall at his flat, understanding tone, emotions bubbling up in frustrated rambling. “What if he doesn’t believe me? What if he thinks I’m joking? What if he thinks it’s for someone else? _What if it makes him sad?_ ”

The last thought worries him the most of all, the idea of his favorite admin, of the person that held his hand and looked into his eyes and told him how much he cares about Grian after fixing Grian’s ‘accidental’ incident for the umpteenth time, being sad like that. Of Xisuma getting a confession, and thinking it’s a _joke._ Even if Xisuma doesn’t like him in the same way, wouldn’t that sting? To think one of his Hermits would make a joke out of liking him? Grian doesn’t want that.

That’s why he’s tried, over and over, to get the admin’s attention with increasingly nonsensical incidents that no one else can fix. It gives him a chance to have Xisuma nearby, a chance to take his hand, look him in the eye, and _tell_ him, with his own voice. With the same level of meaning that Xisuma put into saying he cares, enough to tell him it’s true.

Even if he can never manage to actually do it.

“Grian, I don’t think X would brush it off as a joke just like that. And, I mean… If you sent it as a direct message to him and only him, where no one else could see it, then he’d know there’s no mistake and it’s not something just to get a reaction.” Iskall suggests again, shifting into Grian’s line of sight and breaking the spiraling thoughts. “It’s worth a try, right? And I know he won’t judge you. If nothing else you could ask him to meet up normally, or tell him you need to talk to him, and he’ll know there’s something you need to say.”

“I… guess you have a point.” Grian agrees after a moment, knowing Iskall is right. As much as he wants to just worry endlessly in circles over the admin’s possible reaction, he knows Iskall is the one of the two of them that actually has a clear head about the issue.

“Come on, I’ll help. You can send him a message right now.” Iskall prompts, shuffling close enough to lean against his side, close enough to see his screen if he opens one. It’s comforting, having support so close by and so enthusiastically, and Grian leans into him with a nod.

With a flick of his hand, his own chat screen opens into the air in front of them. The conversation of all of their fellow Hermits pops up right away, a conversation between Zedaph and Cub ongoing at the moment. With just a glance, it looks like Zedaph is trying to rope Cub into what Grian can only instantly assume is a scam, though it looks like the tables are getting turned in Cub’s favor. Leave it to the Convex to be able to twist any deal in their favor, he supposes.

“No procrastinating, or you’ll never do it. Go on.” Iskall raises a hand, covering the rest of the chat and hiding the progression of the deal from sight. But he’s right, and with a shaking hand, Grian taps on the screen, opening the messaging panel, selecting Xisuma’s name…

“What do I say?” The builder asks after a long moment of staring at the blinking line, fingers hovering over the keys.

“The truth? Speak from the heart, I dunno.” Iskall shrugs. “They need to be your words, not mine. But just tell him what you always tell me, you know? Pretend you’re just telling me about how you feel about him. Here,”

Iskall moves his hand, this time covering the recipient name.

“You’re typing a message to Iskall, yup. Not Xisuma. This message goes right to me, there you go, tell me all about how you feel about him.”

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Grian nods, moving shaking fingers and tapping weakly at each key in turn. It’s slow, hesitant; the message builds itself into existence letter by letter, and he can feel his face heating up more with each keystroke, each press of the screen. The words form together into a full sentence, his feelings put forth into written speech in a way that feels far too simple to really show the truth of how he feels.

“There you go. That’s all it takes, that’s it right there. Now all you have to do is send it, and he’ll know, and you can talk about it even if you can’t really get the words out because he’ll know what you’re trying to say, okay?”

“I…” Grian hesitates, finger hovering over the send button. The words on the screen almost seem to taunt him, his feelings laid bare as nothing more than strings of text, and it doesn’t feel right at all. He really should tell Xisuma in person, shouldn’t he? Their admin deserves that much out of him. “I can’t.”

With a defeated flick of his hand, the screen disappears; the message too disappearing from existence. Beside him, Iskall sighs, but pets his head all the same.

“Maybe next time, Grian.” He reassures the builder, just like he’s done a dozen times before, and Grian knows he’ll probably have to say it a dozen times more.

* * *

When he’s alone, in his silent base surrounded in nothing but screens, is when Xisuma feels the most at peace. Arranging them all just perfectly, watching the numbers and the logs trail across each one, keeping an eye on his world and his Hermits, with nothing to distract him. It makes the thoughts in the back of his mind quiet down, just the littlest bit; gaze flitting from screen to screen, watching the changes per moment, makes him almost able to ignore the mental vision of a certain nervous, blushing Hermit still clinging to his mind. But those are nerves from a fear of being in trouble, a blush of embarrassment for making another small problem, and he firmly shakes his head to dispel the improper thoughts.

Another screen, another glance at the chats. Scar seems to be going out caving; his location on the map moving quickly, searching for a way underground, his inventory full of supplies and defences when Xisuma pulls it into sight. This is Scar, of course, so he sets those screens aside to keep an eye on for the foreseeable future and makes note of which Hermit is closest to him, just in case he needs help.

For good measure, he pulls up the messages, fingers dancing across virtual keys to send a quick preemptive warning Zedaph’s way, a request to be ready if Scar needs him. He gets a happy face in response, flicking that chat aside now with that done. Part of him is tempted to sit by and just watch to see how it goes, but he has other things to do meanwhile, so a few more screens appear and join the others to occupy his hands.

He’s been meaning to fiddle around with the displays for a while now, anyway. An array of them are presented before him, giving him choices on exactly what he wants to play with this time, but shulkers seem the best choice for right now. There’s one on the floor nearby anyway, and he only has to slightly lean out of his space to tug it to sit beside his feet.

It’s relaxing, poking at its settings. Exploring the way its display, its inventory, can be handled and seen in his screens even when it isn’t even physically open. Even with Scar being very bad at health management on the screens to his right, something that ticks stress onto him as he keeps watch on it, he enjoys being able to quietly work on his little project in the while.

There’s a lot of input to look at all at once, but even so, one screen in particular catches his attention as he gives them all a regular cursory glance. It’s the extended chat, again, the one with messages being typed out; and yet again, Grian’s name is sitting in it alone, the end line blinking quietly away as it waits for a message.

It’s curious, but it could be anything, so he redirects his attention again. He’s figured out how to match the display of the shulker screen to its physical color, an exciting development he hadn’t quite anticipated. The fun of it is short lived as Scar’s death message pops up in chat, though, and the admin spins around to note his coordinates before he respawns. They’re easy to copy over and send right to Zedaph, and though Scar’s icon pops up halfway across the map from where he died, Zedaph is right nearby to gather his things.

The chat is filled with Scar lamenting his inability to not die, a reassurance from Zedaph that he’s helping, and a comment from Tango about Zedaph being a hero. It warms the admins heart as always, watching them joke around and take care of each other, and he turns back to his other screens now with the reassuring knowledge Scar and his supplies are fine.

Xisuma just has enough time to see the extended chat, now filled with one whole message, before it disappears. It’s gone so fast, he’s sure he must have misread it; the words refusing to click in his mind, bouncing around with the thought that they must be a mistake. His gaze snaps back to the chat itself to double check, but the message never appears, erased and unsent. It’s been deleted, Grian having changed his mind, turned back on his choice to send it at all.

He can’t register it as truth, can’t accept that he read it properly at all, and yet… if it had been anything else, Grian wouldn’t have changed his mind about sending it. If it was a simple message, something casual and run of the mill, he wouldn’t have taken so long to type it. It wouldn’t have disappeared, erased from existence without the nerves to say it at all.

All at once, the admin’s mind snaps back to this morning, to the way Grian hesitated so much in his initial request for help. The way he reworded it, time and time again, as if he was wrestling with the urge to say something else before ultimately caving for what he ended up saying. The way he seemed so startled at Xisuma’s sudden appearance, the way he seemed to attempt to initiate contact at every opportunity. The way he was the same color as his sweater, stumbling over his words, avoiding X’s eyes… in fact, the way he seems to _always_ act like that when Xisuma is around, the way he’s always seemed to turn into a nervous mess every single time, the way he always looks like he has something he’s too afraid to say--

Oh, _geez._

He’s been an idiot, hasn’t he?

  
  
  


**Grian:** X, I have to tell you. I have feelings for you that aren’t just platonic.


	2. Unintentional Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grian tries to give Xisuma some space, tries to keep from causing him trouble.
> 
> Grian isn't very good at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote the first half of this in the car on a road trip and it was the best experience ngl i highly recommend bluetooth keyboards

It’s been two weeks. A full two weeks since he last saw Xisuma, since he made a mess of the bedrock to get his attention, since his failed attempt twice in one day to say how he feels. And in that time, nothing has changed; he’s still spent far too many of those nights mentally banging his head against a wall for having chances and continuing to take none of them.

And now, just like he always does, Xisuma has disappeared inside of his base for the foreseeable future. Sometimes Grian wonders what he’s doing in there, but then he remembers he’s just doing what he always does-- keeping an eye on all of them, ready to stop Grian from doing something stupid like always.

But… Grian doesn’t really want to do something stupid to get his attention again. Xisuma does so much for all of them, it seems like all of his time is put into keeping them safe and protected. He’s always there, at the drop of a hat to jump in and fix anything, to help anyone, to the full extent of his ability. He works so hard for all of them, he cares  _ so much _ , it’s… it’s not okay for Grian to come along like this, breaking things just to get the admin’s eyes on him for a little while.

All in an attempt to tell him, and all to never have the nerves to do it, every single time.

Shaking his head, Grian turns his attention back to his work. If he can’t manage to actually  _ tell _ Xisuma, then he can at least give the admin some actual peace. Does the man ever even rest? At this point, he isn’t sure, not with how he seems to appear out of thin air when something happens no matter what hour of the day or night it is. It’s with that in mind that he shoves the thoughts, the feelings, the urge to do something to get his attention again, all as far away to the back of his mind as he can.

He’s been zoned out for who knows how long, thinking about Xisuma, though that’s far from out of the ordinary. But it’s left in his wake a whole slew of misplaced blocks, his build entirely off center with his thoughts and focus elsewhere, and looking back on the wonky state of it makes him groan. He’s just going to have to go back and undo  _ all _ of it, all over again, and it’s times like these that he regrets building out of such sturdy blocks. Trying to tear them down takes so long, each block slow to bust and pop into his inventory, and it gives his mind far too much time to absently drift back to the obvious.

Maybe a beacon would help, allow him to break things down faster and give him less time to think and to  _ pine _ after what he’s too much of a wuss to admit he wants. Eyes trailing over to the chest monster in the corner, he’s sure he has some Wither skulls in there, somewhere… Something about Iskall getting enough skulls for two Withers and saying  _ nope, absolutely not again _ after the first one.

Besides, well, there’s nothing better to take his mind off of his feelings than a deadly fight, is there? Something intense, something that leaves no room for anything in his head other than the instincts to move and fight and to win.

Build forgotten, Grian hops over to said chest monster, nothing but the sound of shulkers opening and closing in his wake as he searches. For not the first time, he wishes he could see into them without having to open each one, but that’s probably a bit too much to ask for.

Xisuma could probably figure out how to make it happen.

The thought is stark and jarring, crossing his mind like something crashing through a window, and he shakes it off with a vengeance. Doubling down on his efforts to find his skulls, he searches through shulkers faster, eyes skimming over the items inside and refusing to let any other thoughts cross his mind in the process. The thought tries to make its way back into the forefront of his mind once or twice, but he shoves it down each time, and finally he finds what he’s looking for.

Shoved away into a red shulker along with all manner of completely unrelated items, the skulls are tucked carefully  _ away _ from the soulsand that must have come with them. It saves him the trouble of having to go and get it himself on top of the skulls, and he’s thankful for Iskall being better at gathering things properly together than he is.

With the components of a Wither summoning set aside into his inventory, Grian wastes no time in leaving his shulker monster behind. He knows there’s some kind of trick the others like to use, of spawning the Wither beneath the bedrock in the End, but he’s had quite enough of messing with bedrock lately. Instead, the torchlit walls pass by in a blur as he races down the stairs into his mine, leaving the open air and hopefully his renegade thoughts far behind on the surface.

Granted, he’s going to the same place he went to get Xisuma’s attention last time; the high cave rises up over his head when he reaches the bottom, the uneven terrain of bedrock taking him right back to that day when he managed to glitch one of those blocks out of existence.

It crosses his mind, for a moment, if Xisuma noticed the block disappearing the way it did. Maybe there was some kind of warning on his screens, a blaring red notification that something happened that shouldn’t have, and that’s how he managed to appear at nearly the same instant Grian sent his message about it. It wouldn’t surprise him, really, considering all of the other things Xisuma is capable of.

There he goes again. Shaking the thoughts out of his head, Grian starts placing the soulsand, desperate to give his mind something else to focus on. He didn’t bring down the best of his armor with him, nor any potions, but he can’t be bothered to care about that right now. He’s done this before, he can handle it, and it’s high time he do something productive that isn’t just uselessly pining after his admin for weeks on end.

Two of the skulls in place, he hesitates on the third one, wondering if this really is such a good idea. The cave around him is leering, ominous; it carries the feeling of somewhere people don’t exactly come back from after trying to fight otherworldly beasts like this one. It makes his skin crawl, eerie noises echoing in the faded darkness at the edges of his vision, while the faintest particle effects from the void below the bedrock seem to float up between the jagged blocks.

But he’s come this far, and what else is he supposed to do? Go right back to building off center, wonky creations that look completely wrong just because his thoughts won’t leave the idea of how much he wants to be with his admin? Ugh. He really should just say it, Iskall is right, but he can’t.

He  _ can, _ however, kill a Wither. That much he can do.

The last skull slams in place, and there’s no going back.

  
  


* * *

Surrounded in screens, doused in silence broken only by haptic tapping, Xisuma has far too much to do. He’s already abandoned his helmet at least an hour ago just to muss through his hair in frustration at whatever it is Mumbo managed to do to the lag, the familiar piece of armor rolled away and out of the light. On the other side, Scar is off building something, which would be fine if not for the several dozen mobs Xisuma can see popping up underneath the unlit build for the poor terraformer to stumble upon as soon as he comes down. And behind him, the screens currently left abandoned as he handles everything else instead, he’s not sure what Iskall is doing and he’s not sure he wants to know.

As long as it isn’t breaking the server like Mumbo’s new farm, it isn’t his problem yet.

There’s also a faint, nagging feeling of worry in the back of his mind. There’s something missing here, a delayed layer of chaos he hasn’t seen in a concerning amount of time. Normally Grian would have managed to do something that needs his attention by now, but there’s been nothing but radio silence from the builder ever since… Well. He tries not to let the message get to him, immediately flinging the thought from mind in favor of focusing, and decidedly ignoring the heat he can feel rising to his cheeks.

It’s not that he minds, or that he has a problem with it. He  _ very much _ does not, especially if the less than friendly dreams he’s been having have anything to say about it. But he’s still their admin, at the end of the day, and even knowing Grian feels the way he does, he can’t quite bring himself to broach the subject.

If Grian wanted him to know, he’d have sent the message. But he didn’t, and Xisuma is  _ not _ going to overstep that boundary with knowledge he shouldn’t have, no matter how much he wants to. No, he’ll wait until Grian wants him to know, even if that ends up being never.

But all of that aside, he hasn’t seen or heard anything from Grian since then, and it’s starting to worry him. Actually, he’s been worried the entire time; normally he sees Grian in the public chat, making comments and jokes and playing around with the others, but there’s been no such thing. Xisuma even had to go and check on his personal information and an overhead of his build site just to make sure he’s still around and alive, which thankfully he is, though something seemed off about his project.

Maybe it’s all in his head, though. Maybe it’s just that message he wasn’t supposed to see, messing with his perception of his Hermit.

Turning back to his screens, Xisuma goes back to trying to fix Mumbo’s most recent mess. It feels off that there’s only two of the three Architechs causing things to break today, part of him half expecting Grian to also pop up with an oops of his own, but he also isn’t sure what to expect. As he purges an incomprehensible amount of items from floating on the ground, eyes flitting back occasionally toward whatever Iskall is doing, he can’t help an ever mounting feeling of something being off.

He can’t quite place it, but it’s a feeling of worry, a creeping chill making its way up his spine. The kind of feeling that makes one’s hair stand on end, the air going still and seeming to hold its breath just before something happens. It’s oppressive, weighing down on him in a way that makes adrenaline spike through his blood, and Xisuma can’t help but bring up an inordinate amount of screens in some attempt to find what's about to happen.

Everything looks fine, at first. No one is mentioning anything out of the ordinary in the chat, no one is typing anything that could give an idea of what it is, and no one is in any strange locations. Mumbo is by his new farm, Iskall is somewhere in Sahara, Grian is somewhere near his base. The first two’s inventories are just full of redstone components and junk, nothing to be afraid of so long as they don’t create any more lag with it, and Grian--

There’s just enough time to open his inventory and see a Wither skull before it disappears, and not a second later, the ominous ringing tone of a Wither spawning echoes around him. It makes him jump just a bit at the familiarly dangerous sound, and the way the chat suddenly goes wild with activity shows he isn’t the only one startled by its creation. With no warning about it being spawned, and no admittance on who has chosen to create and fight one, there’s an overarching worry among his Hermits about its origins.

With a haptic press, yet another screen joins the absolute ramshackle mess of a hundred others and he types out a reassuring message to them all. He knows who spawned the Wither, knows it wasn’t just a fluke spawning accidentally on its own, and settles their concerns with just that. With that handled, he pulls over all of Grian’s screens, pulling forth his stats and location and everything else to keep a close eye on the fight.

He tells himself it’s just so they dont end up with a rogue Wither on the loose if Grian dies to it, but he knows that’s a lie, even if he always keeps an eye on any Hermit that chooses to fight it.

Right away, he’s concerned. Grian isn’t equipped to fight it, isn’t armoured enough to protect himself fully. He’s still wearing his elytra no less, well and fully unprotected from explosive blasts straight to the chest, and the admin can’t help but wonder what in the world he’s thinking. He’s lacking in potions, any potion effects, and even anything to stave off the Wither effect already picking away at his health. Though, he’s done a decent amount of damage to the creature as it is, and he’s managing to avoid further damage impressively well. With the way his coordinates are jumping around like the performance numbers when Mumbo does anything, he seems to be dodging its attacks.

Xisuma tries to ignore the smitten feeling just imagining the builder dodging around, light on his feet and vicious in his counters.

It’s going well as best that he can see, and he forces out a relieved sigh. Maybe Grian can handle it, after all. All the same, he checks his maps to find the nearest Hermit in case he needs help, looks behind him to double check the other two haven’t made any further mess--

His attempt at falling into his usual routine is broken, well and fully shattered to pieces, by every single one of his screens flashing into a dangerous red all at once. Each and every one is blocked by a warning popup, a resounding error ping echoing around him from each one in full stereo, a hundred notifications going off at once to catch his attention.

It’s been a long time since he’s seen his display like this, a long time since anything needing such heavy handed attention grabbing warnings has been needed, and he can feel his blood running cold just at the sight of it. Shooing some of them away, Xisuma checks desperately over Grian’s information, trying to find and understand exactly what’s just gone wrong.

His answer is in the stats, as always. The Wither effect has worn off, leaving Grian with nothing that should be draining on his health; and yet, his life is ticking away number by number, being chewed on by some kind of outside source. It’s too steady to be blasts from the Wither itself, and for a moment Xisuma doesn’t know what the builder has gotten himself into, but a glance at his coordinates makes it all make sense.

As fast as he can, Xisuma pulls his command prompt into sight and pastes the same teleportation command into it that he did before, flinging himself into the middle of the fray before it’s too late.

* * *

Grian doesn’t know what went wrong. He’s fought the Wither plenty of times before, he knows how to fight it, how to avoid its attacks and make it through relatively unscathed. He’s done it at bedrock before, too, there’s nothing that should have gone wrong. And yet, somehow it did.

The one time he tries  _ not _ to make a mess of something, the one time he isn’t trying to break something on purpose, the one time he tries to actually let Xisuma have some peace,  _ of course _ that turns out to be the one time he well and fully gets himself into real trouble.

He barely has time to register the blast, the head on attack he didn’t have time to dodge, before it happens. One moment he’s standing there, bracing for the hit he knows he can’t avoid, and the next he’s feeling the agonizing, wrenching feeling of his body trying to exist in the same space as an immovable block. It must’ve been something about the angle, and maybe even some leftover confused coding from his last shenanigans about making said blocks vanish from existence, but somehow he ends up with his chest wedged right in the middle of the block.

It’s nearly impossible to breathe, no room for his ribs to expand in the middle of the solid stone. Worse yet, he can feel the ice cold chill of the void on his legs, the almost ticklish feeling of its stray particles drifting over him, and it  _ hurts. _ It feels like he’s being nibbled on by frostbite, by some unseen creature with a nightmarish amount of teeth, and he can feel the world around him trying to spin into dizzying vertigo with the way his panic demands more air that he cannot get.

And in front of him, there’s a very, very angry Wither. There’s nowhere for him to go now, no way for him to move away from it, and he doesn’t need a screen to tell him its nearly decimated health is ticking back up point by point as his ticks down. He squirms in place, trying desperately to free himself from his suffocating prison, but his body doesn’t budge. A feeling of terrified claustrophobia overtakes him, making the space feel like it’s shrinking by the moment, and he can already feel his legs going numb outside of the world. Whether that’s from how tightly he’s crushed inside the stone, or from half of his body dangling into the nonexistent space between dimensions, he can’t be sure.

What he does know is that he feels more and more doomed as the sensation in his limbs drains away, all sorts of alarm bells going off in his head that he isn’t going to survive this one.

What happens to someone who dies half in the void, half out? He doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t think anyone knows.

The Wither creeps just that little bit closer, its angry and otherworldly face contorting with rage and that distinct hissing sound, the sound that always warns just seconds before it spits Withering explosives at its targets. Grian braces himself, wincing and closing his eyes, trying to shrink into his space within the block, trying to hide away from the imminent blast. With how weak he can feel himself getting, he already knows it’ll just take one to finish him off, to send him to find out what his respawn will look like or if he even will at all in a state like this. But it never comes; or at least, it never hits  _ him. _

He hears it, hears the faint whistling of the projectile flying through the air, hears it collide and explode with a deafening boom. But it sinks in after a few moments that he can still hear the Wither hissing, that he can still feel the suffocating block around him, and he hesitantly peeks up at the threat looming over him.

It’s still there, angry as ever and glowing in the dark of the cave. But between Grian and the Wither, a half shadowed form stands firm, surrounded in a swath of blue screens that wash his green armor in teal light. Grian feels his heart jump into his throat and stop, all at once, at the sight of Xisuma standing tall and unflinching in front of him, despite the way he can see the admin’s muscles wincing of their own accord from the Wither effect.

Xisuma clicks his tongue. “What a mess. I’m sure you don’t even feel bad for bullying one of my Hermits while he’s down, do you?” The admin shames in a level, authoritative voice, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. As he speaks, he’s typing on one of his various screens, his sword left unused and ignored at his hip, casually ignoring the Wither entirely other than talking at it.

“Xisuma--” Grian tries, panic overtaking him all over again at the sight of his admin just standing there, exposed and defenseless before this thing. But the lack of room to breathe much, combined with the weakness settling in with his ever dwindling health, leave him unable to get more than a faint wheeze out as the cave blurs around him.

Xisuma either doesn’t hear him, or doesn’t react. He stays standing just where he is, typing away at his screen, while the Wither before him rears up yet again. Its face contorts with the preparation of another blast, aimed right at the man with nothing to shield himself and what looks like no intent to move from his place guarding the builder. It makes a feeling of wretched helplessness rip its way through him, far more than being trapped here alone; now Xisuma is here, getting hurt on his behalf, just because he was dumb enough to cause this entire situation in the first place.

None of this would have ever happened if he hadn’t messed with the blocks, if he hadn’t tried so hard to get the admin’s attention for such  _ selfish _ reasons. The hissing grows louder, and Grian is trapped between a frozen inability to look away, and knowing full well he doesn’t want to see Xisuma die for him.

Before he can break free of that feeling, though, Xisuma firmly taps a little button on his screen and the air is pierced by the Wither’s dying shriek. It echoes in the cave around them, the beast wrenching and twisting around before falling to the ground in a heap that vanishes after only a moment. Xisuma’s hand stays hovering in place over the screen, his back toward Grian for a moment longer as he watches to make sure the creature is dead. 

The absolute nonreaction following its spontaneous death by his hand with only the tap of a finger is a testament to just how powerful Xisuma really is, when he needs to be. Then he turns, the invisible tension in his capability broken as eyes illuminated with a blue glow focus in on the trapped builder. Grian feels like he should probably be concerned at the fact he’s starting to see double, but he can’t help but be breathless for a whole other reason after that display.

“Hold on,” Is all his admin says, those fingers still flying over the virtual keys as he steps closer. There’s something in his tone, something concerned maybe, but all Grian can think is how nice his voice sounds after not hearing it for so long. He always sounds so calm, so warm, even when he has to come help Grian with all of his stupid shenanigans. He’s busy, Grian knows, and probably has more stress on his shoulders with the amount of responsibilities he has than anyone else, and yet he always seems to make time for them, always has patience for them when they need help. Even now, here he is, fresh after casually slaying a Wither for him, and--

All at once, the block disappears, and suddenly there isn’t anything holding Grian up anymore. He feels his heart lurch into his throat with gravity as he starts to fall, his body being yanked into the void fully, but it doesn’t get to take him. Only a split second after the block vanishes, he can feel a hand on his arm keeping him from falling out of the world, the grip firm and unyielding.

It moves, the sturdier grip of an arm wrapping around him, and then the void is gone. He can feel the solid stone under him as he’s hauled up back into the world, can feel the static sensation in his legs as feeling starts trying to flow back into them. And most of all, he can feel Xisuma; the tight grip still around him, the warm chest he’s been pulled to, the helmetless face buried in his hair. It’s all cemented with a feeling of relief, the edge of survivalistic fear finally able to snap, and he goes even more boneless against Xisuma than he was in the first place.

After a moment, there’s a pat on his back, an encouraging voice at his ear.

“Grian, you can breathe now.” Xisuma reminds him, making it sink in that the world around him is still fading. With the block gone, he can finally breathe in fully, gasping in a breath that makes his whole chest puff out more firmly against Xisuma’s. It makes the muddy, blurry feeling begin clearing from his head, replaced by the heavy ache of health so low he doesn’t even want to see what number it’s at. “There you go, well done.”

His voice is so kind, so caring, even despite the way Grian can still feel the admin’s body twitching from being Withered. It’s a painful sensation, but he’s acting like it isn’t there at all, or maybe that Grian is just more important than it with the way Xisuma is still holding him close in a nearly too-tight grip.

Grian does  _ not _ feel more important. All of this was his own fault, dragging the admin away from his heaps of work yet again even if it was unintentional for once, and he can’t help the way his heart twists in shame.

“Xisuma, I--”

He’s cut off by the admin pulling away, which hurts more than he wants to admit. But he doesn’t go far; Xisuma only pulls away enough to look at his face, holding him firmly by the shoulders and looking into the builder’s eyes with a searching intensity. “Are you okay?” He asks, concern painted over every inch of his expression.

“I’m fine,” Grian breathes back, suddenly finding air hard to find again with Xisuma looking at him like that. The concern in Xisuma’s eyes doesn’t dissipate, doesn’t disappear, but his expression does soften some. It makes Grian’s heart do a funny flip, especially as he realizes fully just how closely they’re laying together on the stone floor. “I-- I, uh…”

He feels the need to apologize for something, to tell Xisuma he’s sorry for the trouble, but those words are just as caught in his throat as his confessions always are. As he struggles, mouth forming uselessly over words he can’t manage to voice, the admin’s eyes dart down to watch for just a moment. Then he’s looking back, gaze growing ever softer, as his hands drift up from Grian’s shoulders to cradle his face.

“You know, Grian,” Xisuma breathes, leaning ever so marginally closer, sending the builder’s heart into a frenzy. He can feel his breath over his face, feel the words as Xisuma whispers them in that low voice of his, and any coherent thought screeches to a halt. “You don’t need to put yourself in danger to get my attention.”

That brings him back, just enough, to cringe at the entire situation he’s caused yet again. 

“I’m-- I’m  _ sorry, _ X, I--” He starts, managing to find his words enough this time to make his remorse shown. Xisuma pauses, tilting his head slightly, his grip going somewhat stiff against the builder’s face as Grian stumbles over his apology, and it only makes him more worried for an adverse reaction. “I didn’t mean to, I  _ swear, _ I was going to leave you alone--”

Brows knitting together, lips half formed into a tiny frown, Xisuma studies his face. It makes him want to shrink, his heart trying to escape his chest while a sinking feeling of shame for everything he’s put Xisuma through bleeds over top. As it is, though, there’s really nowhere for him to go, nowhere to look away, when Xisuma is so close and holding his face so gently. Even if his legs didn’t feel like jelly from the void chewing on them, they probably would be just from this proximity anyway.

“Grian,” The admin finally says, hand tracing ever so gently over his cheek to thread into his hair. His face softens again, losing any kind of inspecting edge it might’ve had a moment ago. “I’m joking. Well, actually, not really-- I  _ would _ prefer you not put yourself in unnecessary danger, but you know I’m not upset. On the contrary,”

His grip trails further back, taking a delicate hold of the back of Grian’s neck while the other hand falls to the floor, bracing himself. As he leans over the builder and leans tantalizingly close to his face, Grian is sure he’s died at this point, forgetting to breathe all over again.

“I’m very glad to see you again.”

There’s something in Xisuma’s eyes, in the way he’s holding him, that feels like it says so much more. He doesn’t move any further, doesn’t bring himself any closer, only staring down into Grian’s eyes with a look that almost seems to have just the slightest bit of questioning hesitance in it. It’s startling to see on someone else, on the object of his affections, but Grian knows that look; he’s  _ felt _ that look more times than he can count. Xisuma is waiting, holding back, leaving the next move up to him and his choice, a choice Grian has been far too afraid to make at any point prior to now.

Call it the result of a near death experience, call it the result of seeing his own crush defend him unwaveringly, call it whatever you’d like. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is the feeling of Xisuma’s soft skin, normally covered by his helmet, as the builder reaches up to mimic the hold Xisuma already has on him. All he cares about is the way Xisuma watches his hand reach for him, the way his eyes flutter for a moment at the contact, the way they focus back on him with an intensity that makes his breath catch in his throat.

And then he’s pulling, tugging his admin down, and finally doing what he’s wanted to ever since he joined.

Xisuma lets Grian pull him in, melting right against him the moment their lips meet. The contact of their bodies is gentle, the admin pressing a light amount of weight against him, just enough to feel secure without hurting his already fragile and battered state. The contact of their lips stays the same for just a moment, an overarching feeling of hesitance hanging over them both, before the hand behind his head tightens its grip on his hair in just the right way to make him gasp. It leaves Xisuma free to capture his mouth fully, tongue pressing against his own in a way that’s both gentle and desperate at once. 

Vaguely, somewhere in the pile of abandoned junk that is his coherent thoughts, Grian thinks Xisuma tastes like the crisp, heavy air of a storming ocean. He isn’t sure if it’s the admin, or their contact, or even something to do with how inherently Xisuma himself is strung into the code, but he swears he can feel the tinge of electricity in him just like the air before a lightning storm. It’s something arcing, exciting, sending a sharp feeling that he can only describe as needing Xisuma  _ closer, _ despite already being as close as he can get him.

Everything about Xisuma’s touch is electrifying, from his fingers threading gently free of their grip on his hair only to comb through and grab it again, to the way he withdraws just enough to catch the builder’s lip between his teeth ever so gently, to the way he licks Grian’s lips just before surging forward again to press right back against them with fervor; each touch compounding together to leave Grian lightheaded and panting by the time he pulls away just a fraction of an inch.

With Xisuma’s breath panting over his wet lips, Grian shivers, torn between needing to pull him back in and needing to breathe. The only sound is the hammering of his own heart in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears, and his own breath as he gasps in a lungful of air. But it all seems to fade when Xisuma leans right back in, everything in Grian’s awareness going still, anticipating that touch and the taste of him again.

That’s not what he gets, though. Xisuma’s hand in his hair cradles his head gently, while his lips meet Grian’s again in such a delicate, soft touch, the builder almost feels like he’s floating just from the sensation of it. It makes his heart soar, fluttering like a dazed bird, especially with the way he can  _ feel _ just in that chaste, innocent touch how much care Xisuma is conveying with it. He knows the admin cares, he knows he loves them all and would protect every single one of his Hermits without hesitation or regard for his own safety, but to both witness exactly that and to now have Xisuma kissing him with a gentle kind of love like he’s something precious… if he was smitten before, he’s well and fully head over heels now, everything about Xisuma’s presence making his feelings and thoughts go haywire.

His heart feels like a caged bird trying to escape and he  _ knows _ Xisuma can feel it, especially with the way his lips curl into a smirk against Grian’s own. It’s just such a little show of that bit of cheekiness Xisuma shows, every now and then, that it only makes Grian fall ever further for him, far deeper than the void below them could ever go.

Grian wants more, wants to pull him back in and lose himself in the other’s touch, but Xisuma pulls away a little bit more this time. His hand traces back over Grian’s cheek, exploring the shape of his face in an impossibly gentle way that contrasts so well with the man that defended him without hesitation only minutes ago.

“Is this okay?” Xisuma asks, his voice low enough to send a shiver down the builder’s spine, and Grian nods fervently. The expression trained on him is so soft, perfectly fitting with the feather light touch that ghosts over the delicate skin under his eye, down over his cheek, under his jaw and finally to hold his chin. His thumb trails over Grian’s lips, the movement followed by Xisuma’s eyes, and he has the strangest urge to bite it just to see what the admin’s expression would look like.

So Grian, of course, does exactly that.

Xisuma’s face  _ instantly _ blooms into color, the healthy dusting of pink on his cheeks sweltering into a sheer red, while his eyes open so wide Grian can see every little detail of the mixed and matched colors within them. His gaze is hyperfocused on his thumb held between Grian’s teeth, his lips parting to let flustered breaths escape. Even when he finally blinks, tearing his attention away from the scene before him for just a moment, the slow movement leaves him with a half lidded look that Grian finds he definitely wants to see again.

“I,” Xisuma tries, visibly swallowing a lump in his throat before continuing in a voice higher than normal. “I, uh. Well.”

It’s such a stark difference, again, to the man that stood before him and stared down a Wither for him. The man that barely reacted to its deadly poison wracking his body, the man that barely had to lift a finger to crush arguably one of the most dangerous creatures known to them. He looks so flustered now, barely able to form a coherent thought; he looks like Grian is sure he did every single time he tried to confess, and the builder much prefers the fluster on his admin instead.

But as much as he wants to stay right here, like this, drinking in the presence and the touch of the person he’s pined after fruitlessly for so long, Grian can feel his energy fading after that entire ordeal. With a weakening grip, he reaches for Xisuma’s hand, releasing his thumb and pulling his palm close enough to press a kiss to it instead.

Xisuma watches the entire movement with a soft look, his blush somehow spreading even further at the gentle touch. “Come on, Grian.” He murmurs after a moment, leaning down again to press a kiss to the builder’s forehead. It’s a delicate sensation that, combined with the heavy exhaustion tugging at his body, makes Grian’s eyes flutter closed.

He’s aware of Xisuma pulling away, of his arms snaking beneath his body. Even as his equilibrium struggles to stay synced with gravity and the ground seems to fall away from beneath him, just like that block with the void below, it doesn’t startle him. Not when Xisuma is here, his arms holding Grian so securely to his chest. He’s able to melt into a boneless heap, resting his face into the admin’s neck, and the warmth he finds there only manages to further pull him under.

It was worth everything, he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this might've just been an excuse to write badass Xisuma i'll admit it


End file.
